Roses (22 page)

A snarl blasted the air, lifting the hair from her shoulders, and she fought to control Champ, who was wild with terror.

“There is nothing I can do. He took a life from this castle and he must repay it with his own. Had he not left, he could have lived here as a prisoner.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You cannot lift the spell?”

The beast growled. “Even if I wished to do such a thing, I could not.”

“What if . . . what if I will . . .” she swallowed hard and jutted out her chin. “What if I will give my life?” She shuddered.

“You will take his place?”

“He took that rose for me and I will die for him. I owe him at least that much.”

The roses covering the castle turned light blue in a flowing burst of color.

“I will move closer to you.”

The shadow approached, and Champ cantered to a distance with a squeal, but Beauty stood her ground. Her legs shuddered and she could feel its eyes upon her.

“You are a woman?” it grunted.

“Y-yes. I am different, but I am a woman.”

“You are different?”

“My colorings are unusual.”

“Are they? It has been a long time since I have seen . . . but never mind.” The shadow moved away from her once more. “If you give your life to this place then your father will not die.”

“You are certain?”

“A life for a life.”

Beauty glanced up and wished she had not. Two hazel eyes bore into her from a horrific, terrifying face.

“What are the terms?” she whispered.

“You will live with us in this castle forever and you will never leave.”

Beauty thought of Eli and the State officials and the temple on the hill. Most of all, she thought of Owaine’s pale, waning face.

“It is a deal.”

The beast made a noise that sounded like a gasp.

“I will return my horse to my father,” she said.

“If you leave, you will die. Just as he would have.”

She quivered at his roar. “If I cannot leave then my horse must stay.”

“So be it. I have stables and he will be attended to there.”

Beauty looked down at her silvery hands and felt a sob rise to her throat.

“And where will I be kept?” she asked.

“You shall have your own rooms in the castle.”

“Who else lives here?”

“You will see.”

A tear escaped from Beauty’s eye. “So be it,” she whispered.

The beast stood watching the silvery woman cry.

“Take your horse to the stables,” he said. “Then enter the castle. You will be shown to your rooms. And then you must come to see me.”

Beauty did not reply.

She walked through the enchanted grounds to Champ’s side, half fearful that the beast would seize her from behind. The bay stallion was rigid with fear, the bulging muscles of his haunches stiff and tight, and it took her some time to calm him enough to follow her. She stroked, petted, and sung to him and he caught her tears with his velvety muzzle. After a period of commiseration, both felt strong enough to go on and with his head over her shoulder, Beauty walked Champ to the castle.

The beast was gone. Or at least he could no longer be seen. Beauty felt that he was never gone here and that wherever she stood in these grounds he would always be watching her. She shivered.

A gate at the end of the castle opened. She heard its creaking hinges, and both she and Champ jumped. At first she thought that
it had moved of its own accord, but then she saw a movement in the air. The faint outline of some indistinguishable shape could just be made out, and it appeared to be waiting for her. She stared at it for a moment, her heart thumping in her chest, and then it swung the gate again impatiently, as if urging her forward.

She walked Champ toward it slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on its fluid form, but it did not move until she and Champ were through the gate, when it closed it quietly behind them. From then on, doors and gates were opened for Beauty and Champ by a never-ending stream of outlined figures. Some were tall, some were short, some looked as if they could almost be human, while others appeared as if there were barely formed at all. They lead Beauty and Champ into a vast cobbled courtyard, and there was no sound save the
clip clop
of Champ’s hooves.

“Easy, boy,” she whispered as the double doors of a stable were pushed open.

Beauty led Champ inside a tall brick building with row upon row of wide, empty stalls. It was the largest stable she had ever seen; bigger even than those at Rose Herm. The half door of the nearest stall was swung open to reveal a thick bedding of straw and a full net of hay, which perked Champ up considerably.

Beauty tried hanging around to settle him in, but once he had begun chomping hay, he seemed at peace. She petted and stroked him until the doors of the stable were opened again and she knew that the outlines were calling her.

“All right,” she hissed. She turned to Champ and kissed his white blaze. “I’ll be back, boy,” she whispered.

She heard him snort as she stepped out of the stables and the double doors swung shut behind her.

“Where do I go now?”

She wondered if the outlines could speak. If they could, they did not answer her.

Instead, one opened a gate ahead and Beauty followed her invisible guides to a side door of the castle. Side door it may be, but it was ornate nonetheless, with a marbled arch of carved cherubs that danced continuously from one end to the next, playing harps, horns, and trumpets. Just before she stepped inside, she noticed that the roses of the castle had turned dark blue.

Rose Herm had been excessively grand, but the interior of this castle was more so. There were thick fur rugs, carved stone staircases, dark sculptures, golden tables, gilded paintings, courtyards of lush green grass, balconies, wide quads, and tapestries. Beauty could not take it all in, and the decor flitted before her eyes like a mirage that seemed to evaporate as she passed.

She was led through long, twisting corridors, tall halls, wide galleries, and up a tower. Finally, she came to a sturdy oak door that opened slowly, as if in anticipation, and inside was a huge, tall room that she assumed was hers. Everything was a shade of pink, from the rugs on the floor to the curtains on the bed to the wall-sized wardrobe. It made her feel slightly nauseated.

A few items of furniture trembled as she entered and the door clicked shut. There was too much for her to take in all at once, but a splash of water drew her attention to a tin bathtub set before a fireplace. A china jug hovered just above it, in the hold of some outlined creature, pouring steaming water. After it had finished, the figure set it down neatly on a side table and then flowed through the air toward her.

Beauty yelped and stumbled backward.

“Get away!” she cried. “What are you? Get away!”

She ran to the door and yanked on the handle, wondering what place of the under-realm this must be, but the door would not open.

“Let me out!” She pulled harder, the twisted gold of the handle slipping in her sweaty grasp. “Let me out, please!”

She banged on the wooden panels with her fists, terrified tears falling from her eyes. She wanted to change her mind—she wanted to be away from this dark place.

“Let me out, I beg!” she screamed. “Let me go!”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
OUR

The Enchanted Castle

B
eauty lay curled beside the door until she could cry no more. Sobs had racked her body and her hands ached from beating the wooden boards. She was sore, confused, and her silver cheeks were stiff from tears.

Is this a punishment?
she wondered.

She looked to the high pink ceiling and felt a long way from the temple and the gods. She thought of Eli, clutching the spurting wound in his leg, and she thought of Owaine, dying pale and weak in the cottage. She felt a long way from all of them.

A sweet perfume wafted through the air and she looked over at the bath. She had not bathed in that way since she had left Sago. The Hillanders washed in rivers and it was always cold, and therefore quick. She realized that she missed the days of soaking in a bathtub.

Glancing about her warily, she saw that the outline creatures had disappeared, so she began to undress. As she peeled off her homemade dress and undergarments, she realized how dirty they were. It was difficult to keep things clean in Imwane, and the outdoor lifestyle
of the Hillanders did not allow for mud-free petticoats. Leaving her clothes and boots in a pile on the floor, she stepped into the tub, sighing at the blissful warmth of the scented water.

She soaked for a long time, cleaning her body three times over for the luxury of it. When the water began to cool, she found a pile of fluffy, enveloping towels by her elbow and she reluctantly climbed out and dried herself.

There were bejeweled ivory brushes on a dressing table nearby and she combed the tangles from her hair, peering about the room.

“Where are my clothes?” she asked, noticing that her pile was gone.

An outline creature hovered back into view and she jumped away from it. It whirled over to the doors of an enormous wardrobe and took out a velvet, emerald-colored gown, placing it on the bed. There were jewels about its low neckline that glinted in the light and tiny, neat patterns embroidered across its tight waist.

“I want my dress.”

The outline did not move.

“Give me back my clothes!”

In a flash, the dress was gone and her homemade, brown muslin dress with its uneven hem and worn buttons was bundled in a pile beside her.

Beauty changed quickly, regarding the outlined creature suspiciously as it stood on the opposite side of the room.

“Will I be allowed out now?” she snapped.

The door to her room opened very slowly and she stormed through it.

When Beauty marched into an ornate dining room, the beast was already there, lurking in the shadows. At the sight of him, she momentarily lost her breath, but she forced herself to have courage.

“Is it necessary to lock me in my room?”

There was a pause.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You locked me in my room! I could not get out!”

“I did nothing of the sort,” he snarled and his fangs glittered in the firelight.

Beauty folded her fingers into fists to stop them from trembling. “Well, I could not leave.”

“That would be the outlines.”

Beauty thought of the unformed creatures that guided her about the castle. “They are
your
servants. Tell them I may do as I wish—”

“They are not my servants! I command nothing in this place!”

The hairs on the back of her arms rose at his roar, and it took all of her effort to stop herself from turning and fleeing. The beast was only partially visible in this long, shadowed room, but she could see the faint shaggy outline of his form and his hooded hazel eyes.

“If they are proving trouble, I suggest you try to reason with them,” he grunted. “If that does not work, then I have no further advice. They may do as they wish—we are all prisoners here.”

Beauty wanted to ask him what the outlines were, but she was scared of the answer.

There was an awkward silence.

“Well, eat then.”

She noticed the mahogany table spanning the opposite end of the room with one chair and one place set. Upon the golden cloth sat pies, bowls of vegetables, pans of stew, pastries, casseroles, breads, a whole roasted pig, sauces, and oils. Her stomach rumbled as she approached the chair, her boots tapping on the tiled floor, and she seated herself, staring at the sea of food before her. It was like the Imwane harvest one hundred times over.

“Are you eating?” she asked.

“No.”

She moved to take a leg of chicken, but it jumped onto her plate of its own accord and some peas and cauliflower followed it. Too tired to protest, she began eating.

The only sound was the clanging of her silverware, and she felt distinctly uncomfortable with his eyes upon her.

“Do you have to watch me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He growled and she kept her eyes down after that, concentrating instead on the exquisite taste of the food. The huge fire in the cavernous fireplace kept the room warm despite its massive scale, and she endeavored to calm herself, though with that shadow hunched in the opposite corner of the room it was not easy.